


Schlossing

by Tracy



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 22:53:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tracy/pseuds/Tracy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bridget has always loved skiing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Schlossing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amory-vain](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=amory-vain).



There aren't a lot of slopes that can give Bridget trouble. After all, she's been skiing almost as long as she's been walking, and these days, the gentle swoosh of the snow under her skis as she races down a slope is the closest thing she gets to silence. But unfortunately, her skis were made to carve snow, not ice, and she only has a moment to register the harsh sound of her skis skidding out of control before her right leg goes one way and her left goes another. After that, there's nothing but the snowy tree tops, spiraling above her, and then, darkness. For once, she has some quiet.

The next thing she registers is pain – horrible, throbbing pan radiating up her arm. She goes to push herself up – and gasps loudly enough to startle some resting birds nearby. She looks down at the source of the pain and is shocked to find her arm bent at an unreasonable angle. Looking down at the snow, surprisingly, makes things a little better. She can't see the strange, twisted shape of her arm at least. She breathes in and looks up – her skis are lying far, far down the slope, and there's not a single person around she can see. Right now, she knows, the pain is at the forefront of her mind, keeping her from feeling the cold. But soon, her oh-so-stylish but not so practical coat will stop keeping her warm – and then the arm will be the least of her problems. Going out on her own like this had been stupid, but she'd just wanted a moment away from the fawning admirers and the studio men who always expected something out of her – just one moment of peace, like she'd had growing up as a little girl.

She's pulled from her reverie by a small flurry of snow against her legs – someone's come to a stop beside her. A young man on skis, jacket pulled up around his face, leans down to look at her.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

She's just drawing breath when he says, "Oh my god, you're,"

She sighs. Couldn't she have one day without someone recognizing her, without someone knowing her as –

"Brigie?" he says. She looks up and he pulls down his jacket so she can get a look at his face, but she doesn't recognize him. "Brigie," he says again, "it's me. Benjamin." And suddenly, the pain in her arm feels so far away. It's Benjamin, her friend from the village where she grew up. Benjamin, who first played pretend with her. Benjamin, who would boost her up into trees to look at baby birds in the spring, Benjamin, who would steal chocolate for her to nibble at after she went home from school.

Benjamin, who, when she was attacked by a bunch of bullies who decided they wanted to cut off her long blond hair, saved her. Benjamin, who gave her her first kiss, sweet and simple in the tool shed behind her parents house while she shivered in the chilled spring morning air, right before he left for university.

Benjamin, who she hasn't seen in years but has never forgetten, is staring down at her right now, his handsome face almost recognizable now that she can look for the boy she once knew hiding in the dimples of his cheeks.

"Ben?" she asks. "Ben Miller?" I haven't seen you in –"

"Since you became a big film star!" he says, laughing. "But I've seen you!"

Forgetting herself for a moment, she tries to push herself up to hug him – and falls back down again, when the pain in her arm jolts her back to reality. "My arm," she says. "I think it's broken."

He looks down at her with a frown and reaches down to softly graze her arm – she loves the touch of her old friend, but the pain is almost unbearable, and he sees her wince. "All right," he says, "let's get you back down to the lodge and fixed up, with a hot cider in your hand as soon as possible." He lifts her up in his arms, so gently that he barely jostles her and she barely feels any pain. Just like when he used to lift her up as a child – she feels so safe, so peaceful – and she can't remember feeling like that in a while. "Now hold tight," he says, pulling her good arm over his neck. "We'll have you safe and warm in a few minutes." She can't even imagine the strength it takes for him to ski down the mountain, holding her the entire time – he doesn't even falter. When they arrive at the lodge, they're immediately surrounded by people. The movie star is injured! We must help her – someone get her mulled wine! Someone tell her how ravishing she looks, even with a broken arm! Someone bring her pillows! Someone go for the doctor!

Benjamin, her brave rescuer, fades into the background. He can barely get close to her amongst all her tenders and well wishers. But he manages – brushing a gentle kiss against her cheek, and sliding her a piece of paper – an address, in Berlin. "Hopefully we'll see each other sooner, and in more pleasant circumstances, the next time," he says. She reaches down to keep her hand against the paper in her pocket for the rest of the afternoon.

A few months later, Berlin is still covered in snow, but she can see the face of Spring peeking through the leaves of the trees. Benjamin's building is a beautiful, imposing structure, but as she stands in front of it, something feels wrong to her. There's something off, and the front door even looks slightly ajar.

"Excuse me sir," she asks an old man smoking a cigarette across the street. "Have you seen the man who lives in that building?"

She asks, she has to, but of course, she already knows the answer.

A few months later, she contacts the Brits.


End file.
